


Meeting Daud

by MiskatonicWhaler



Category: Dishonored (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood Drinking, Children of the Nightsider, Gen, Mild Blood, Vampire Turning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-31
Updated: 2014-10-31
Packaged: 2018-02-23 10:18:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2543960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiskatonicWhaler/pseuds/MiskatonicWhaler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Like most people in Dunwall, Billie had seen vampires before...</p><p>But this was the first time she had ever seen one feed.</p><p>(Written for DishonoredHalloween '14)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Meeting Daud

It was the blackest part of night, when even the streetlamps in the best districts burned low, and a chill fog was rising up from the river, sending smoky white tendrils creeping through the streets along the waterfront.

Even so, Billie clung to the deep shadows of buildings and alleyways, and darted across any open spaces like a cat shy of being seen. In these early morning hours, any decent citizen would be in bed, or at least safely ensconced in their own homes; the streets belonged to felons and rogues, scum that even the gangs would not accept, who ranked slightly lower than river krusts in the eyes of Dunwall society.

And slightly higher than the aristocracy, in Billie’s.

Her small, bare feet padded over the rough cobblestones without hesitation, despite the gloom. Anyone who caught a glimpse of her by daylight, dressed in threadbare rags and face half-obscured by a wild tangle of roughly shorn hair, would have been surprised to learn that she was well past her fifteenth birthday; years of hunger and desperate survival had left her rather scrawny. Then again, the hard set of her eyes was not the look of a child.

Up ahead, a bit of light spilled into the street from what was probably the only bar still open at such an hour in the Legal District. A sign swung from a pole over the doorway, cracked and peeling letters advertising the Black Friar Pub.

Billie suddenly flattened herself against the wall beside her, fading almost seamlessly into the shadows. Just forty or so paces ahead, around the mouth of an alley beside the pub, she had caught a glimpse of movement – someone milling about in the darkness.

She crouched low and crept forward, trying to get a better glimpse of the alley. The fringe of the Legal District was one of the better places to find scraps of food – good quality garbage, and the area wasn’t overly secure for an upper class district, since those who lived and worked here tended to be rather tight with their coin. Unfortunately, that only made it more dangerous for Billie these days – by now every gang member in the city knew of the price on her head, and unlike the City Watch they would have no qualms about property damage or civilian casualties in chasing her down.

As she moved closer, she slowly discerned that there were maybe two... no... three men hanging around just inside the alley entrance. They seemed restless, striding about as if from force of habit. She noticed that they kept glancing over toward the front door of the pub, purposely staying back from the light of its windows. Watching, waiting, listening for the door to be opened and some drunk barrister to stagger out…

It was hard to be certain in the dark, through what little light reached the front of the alley, but she didn’t think they looked quite like gang members – at least, they lacked the distinctive headwear of the Hatters, and certainly weren’t from the Eels, nor was it likely that any Bottle Street boys would come this far into Hatter turf.

In fact, judging from their confident demeanor and seemingly well-fed appearance, she had a growing suspicion that these men were City Watch officers by the light of day…

But whatever uniform they wore on the clock, it was pretty obvious to Billie that they were running some kind of murder racket now, swarming eagerly near the pub as they awaited a target. A group to avoid, then, but nothing too worrying as far as she was concerned – they would keep their attentions focused on the unfortunate pub patrons, this night.

She thought wistfully of the easy coin that could have been had here from pickpocketing, if only the Watch scum had set up elsewhere… As if the bastards didn’t already earn more coin than half the city, and for what? Terrorizing street urchins? Sucking up to some noble fop’s family while making sure that real justice never stooped to defending the poor? Her eyes narrowed as she lingered, some of the anger that she worked so hard to keep suppressed rising to the surface, and if glares could kill, the three toughs would have dropped dead on the spot.

In that instant, as if she had somehow summoned the god of death, a Void-black shadow suddenly materialized directly in front of the men.

The shadow dispersed into wisps of dark fog that vanished almost as quickly as it had appeared, leaving in its place a figure dressed in crimson.

Even as her mind was still registering the sight, the figure was in motion. It moved to stand beside the nearest thug, to its left, so fast that all Billie saw was a red blur in the night. Seconds later, the thug dropped wordlessly to the ground, and Billie and the other two men simply stared in confusion until a pool of something thick and dark began to spread outward on the cobblestones around the fallen man’s throat.

The sight actually helped bring some clarity back to Billie’s mind, for this at least was a familiar scene.

The remaining two Watchmen, on the other hand, seemed frozen in shock, their eyes and mouths wide open, their fingers reaching for their swords far too late. The crimson-garbed figure was upon the second man in a flash, who dropped as silently and suddenly as the first victim had, the blood oozing around his head.

Then the third man had his sword half-drawn, and even found time to utter the first syllable of a shout, before the figure – a man, it looked like a man, his face visibly pale even in the darkness – apparently relishing his victim’s fear, closed in a bit more slowly on the final Watchman, and this time Billie saw the pale face lowering toward his victim’s throat, lips drawn back in what looked like a rather feral snarl…

This time the Watchman did not fall immediately as the others had, but as the pale man’s teeth found his neck, he seemed to go limp, dropping his sword and slumping forward, only held up by the figure who was greedily devouring his lifeblood…

Billie had no idea how long she watched the strange scene, crouched in her hiding spot beside an old storage crate, her own eyes now wide, heart pounding.

Like most people in Dunwall, Billie had seen vampires before. They weren’t exactly commonplace, but ever since Emperor Euhorn had formally recognized them as citizens of the Empire – with certain restrictions, but still a big step up from “hunted demons,” as they had been in the days when the Abbey held greater sway – since then, they had slowly started to become a regular feature of life in the city. Even the new Empress’s bodyguard was said to have pointy teeth.

But this was the first time she had ever seen one _feed._

Of course, this type of “feeding” was exactly what those legal restrictions were meant to prevent. If the authorities ever got a hold of such a “feral” vampire, he would be turned over to the Overseers and executed faster than he could say “heresy.”

And yet, that was the least of what made this one stand out…

After a minute or so (although it felt much longer to Billie), the vampire finally straightened up and let go of the Watchman – gently, so that the body crumpled softly to the ground rather than making a clatter. This time, there was no spreading mass of blood to seep over and between the uneven cobblestones. The lower half of the vampire’s pale face, by contrast, was now splattered heavily with something dark; his lips parted and a long tongue darted out to skim what it could reach.

He glanced down at the other two bodies, their throats ruined, each framed around the head with a halo of blood that softly glimmered in the light spilling from the pub ahead.

“Such a waste,” Billie just barely heard him mutter, in a deep, gruff voice that sent a shiver down her spine. Aware that her heart was probably beating loud enough to wake the dead, she tried to still her breathing, lest the man notice his young audience; but he seemed transfixed on the rapidly cooling puddles of red liquid staining the filthy street.

He lingered only a moment, though again it seemed interminable to the teenage girl watching from the shadows. Then he glanced around briefly, no doubt making sure there were no witnesses – Billie’s breath hitched in her throat, but by some miracle his sharp eyes skimmed right past her hiding spot.

Satisfied, the vampire’s face turned upward, toward the rooftops above him. He stretched out one hand, sheathed in a long black glove, and made a fist, and suddenly the air around him seemed to shift and warp, his red coat becoming a blur, his form dissolving before Billie’s eyes once more into those ebony wisps of shadow, until he had vanished completely – only to reappear an instant later perched on the edge of the pub’s roof, overlooking the alley.

In that moment, without even time for rational thought, Billie made a decision.

She leapt to her feet and scrambled atop the large crate beside her, then nimbly scaled the wall of the building – an old townhouse or apartment – her fingers and toes expertly finding grooves in the masonry, using window ledges and pipes for extra purchase, with the ease of one who has spent their entire life using such unorthodox means of getting around the city. Within minutes, she was on the rooftop and running parallel to and slightly behind the crimson figure on the roofs across the street, who was thankfully easy enough to see up here in the full moonlight.

Billie wasn’t stupid. Ordinarily, a vampire who had no qualms about killing his human prey was not something she would want to encounter. Besides, if those thugs had truly been Watchmen as Billie believed, they doubtless would have had coin on them – enough coin to feed Billie for a month, most likely. And by leaving their corpses, she had lost her only chance to loot them.

But she knew that this was no ordinary vampire. For one thing, he hadn’t just killed those men to feed on one of them – they had been executed with cold intent. He had even seemed a bit saddened at the waste of blood…

And more importantly, Billie had never seen nor heard of a creature who could literally vanish into the night, as this one had… save perhaps for the Nightsider himself.

She moved more quickly along the tapered roofs and narrow chimneys of Dunwall’s skyline than she ever did in the streets, for there was rarely ever anyone else up here to notice her, much less who could actually match her pace on such dangerous footing. Still, she was surprised, if very relieved, at how easily she managed to keep up with her quarry, who by nature should have been faster than she could hope to match. But the night was clear and the moon nearly full; it seemed that the vampire merely wished to enjoy the night air, for his footsteps glided along the roof tiles with effortless grace, unhurried, and he only performed his vanishing act once or twice more during the entire journey, to skip over some of the wider streets – Billie meanwhile managed scramble and leap her way across using balconies, ledges, and even once a railcar, lying silent and dark in the street as it awaited its next use.

As they ran, eventually leaving the Legal District far behind, the streets they were moving over began gradually to become more and more wrecked, until it was clear that the buildings here had been abandoned for some time. Of course, the teen knew well that “abandoned” buildings did not mean they were empty; and sure enough, as they moved deeper into the ruined district, she started noticing odd figures in masks here and there, from the edges of her vision. Hidden sentries. Possibly vampires, for it was clear that this was the red-coated man’s territory.

Billie ducked low and kept out of sight as best she could.

At last, her quarry ducked into an old, crumbling building several stories high, straight through what might have once been a door but was now a gaping hole in the wall. She lost sight of him after that, and hesitated for a moment, for the first time debating the wisdom of following a murderous vampire into his lair.

But the choice, after all, turned out to be a simple one. She had nothing left to lose.

The interior of the old building was dark, completely unlit, and musty, smelling faintly of mildew. The pale man and his masked sentries were nowhere in sight, so she took some time to explore.

Rotted carpets and desks full of rat-eaten papers met her inquisitive gaze, maps and drawings tacked to the walls, although these appeared to be newer and in better shape. Some of the maps were annotated, although she couldn’t read the notes.

There were also old paintings, long ruined by the wet, and as she padded silently through a door into the next room, she found weapons and practice dummies. A training room of some sort, it seemed. She walked up to one of the dummies, just a torso and featureless head speared on a pole. Up close, she saw that its neck and collarbone area had been viciously torn and stabbed repeatedly with what looked like fang impressions…

A hand settled on her shoulder, and a scream ripped from her throat.

She managed to stifle her shout almost immediately, with a great effort. The hand merely rested on her right shoulder. With a slow glance, she saw that it was black-gloved.

Billie turned around slowly, and came face-to-face with the vampire.

They each took a moment to stare at the other.

He was… shockingly ordinary, up close. His red coat was a bit flashy in color, but now she could see that it was an industrial jacket, like the ones worn by laborers in the processing plants. His dark hair was cropped short and slicked back from his face, which had been wiped mostly clean of blood, and he was neither tall nor short. His most remarkable feature was a jagged scar that ran vertically through his right eye and down his cheekbone.

That is, until his mouth curved into the beginnings of a predatory smile… through which she could just see two long, gleaming, mostly-white and deathly sharp fangs.

“You followed me, found this place, and now you’re not begging or running for your life.” His tone revealed nothing of the thoughts behind his words – a quiet, calm statement of facts. And to Billie, a confirmation of sorts. There was something more to this man, to this place, than simple appearances or societal expectations would dictate. And, faced with death, she found that she didn’t have a shred of regret for coming here.

“There's nowhere to run,” Billie said, matching his dark stare. “And I’m not very attached to it to tell the truth.”

The man stayed silent for a moment, his expression cold, unreadable. Then, without warning, his face was almost right in front of hers, his eyes peering intently into hers as if he could see a map of her soul there, something that would tell him who this girl was.

Finally, he drew back just a bit, seeming to have reached some decision, and spoke, in the same gruff, no-nonsense tone as before.

“You think you’re already dead inside, but I’ll give you something to live for. You’ll fight for me and kill people like the ones who’ve hurt you.”

Billie just nodded, feeling relief for the first time in months.

He folded his arms.

“Tell me, girl. Do you know how vampires are made?”

**********

The night had stretched on, until it was almost dawn, the sky outside having lightened to an ashen color. Daud insisted it would be better this way; she would have all day to recuperate in the lightless inner rooms of the old building, while most of the others slept as well.

Finding her a whaler’s uniform would also have to wait; her form was too small for any of the spares they had on hand.

They knelt in a corner of the training room, away from the weapons and the windows, and out of the main training circle. A single burning oil lantern produced a weak, bluish glow, casting huge shadows onto the wall behind them. Daud produced a broad-bladed knife from a sheath on his belt, and she didn’t flinch, already knowing its purpose.

He removed one of his long gloves, setting it aside. Then he brought up the knife and, with one swift motion, sliced neatly across the exposed white flesh. So clean was the cut that it took a few seconds before a bright line of crimson emerged, beading slowly down his palm.

He raised his wounded hand and Billie opened her mouth, admitting the trickle of thick, tangy liquid. Closing her eyes, she forced herself to swallow.

Then both his hands were gripping her frame, gently but firmly, and she felt a cold, faint breath on the hollow of her neck… and then the tips of his fangs were piercing her skin. It didn’t hurt quite as much as she expected; as he had told her, the saliva coating his fangs was a kind of natural anesthetic.

But it felt… _strange._

She wasn’t quite sure if it was real or imagined, but she thought she could almost _feel_ the flow of her blood racing through her veins as he pulled the life-giving substance away. After a little while she started to feel dizzy… His teeth left her neck, he pulled back and tilted his hand once more against her mouth, flexing his hand so that the blood flowed more easily, spilling the salty stuff into her mouth… she swallowed again. Somehow, it seemed to go down a little easier this time.

They repeated the whole process several times; Billie very quickly lost count, feeling simultaneously weaker with each cycle, and yet more and more eager for the trickle of blood that Daud fed her. She drank a little more each time.

Although she couldn’t remember doing so, she eventually found herself laying flat on her back, stretched out on the floor, and though it was cold and drafty she didn’t shiver. Her thoughts were swimming in a swirling cloud of red…

Somewhere far, far above her, she heard a voice say, “It’s done. She just needs rest, now.” The voice was calm, and quiet, and intimately familiar…

Billie allowed half-lidded eyes to slide shut, and drifted into a strange sleep, feeling more at peace with the world than she could ever remember being.


End file.
